


The Sweetest Poison

by pentagonbuddy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and by you I mean me, sometimes you just want to write cute things between a minor boss character and a playable one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentagonbuddy/pseuds/pentagonbuddy
Summary: "Linhardt, which do you think is more dangerous...a tasteless poison or one that's sweet?"
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Metodey
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11
Collections: Sanguine Throne (Edelich) AU Multiverse





	The Sweetest Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Why does Metodey have claws? Technically this is set in the [Sanguine Throne AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927883), but don't worry about it. I just felt like writing something cute and this came out! I hope you enjoy this blatant melin propaganda.

_The snake coils around my heart and squeezes_

_While I wonder what this disease is_

_Your kiss injects_

Metodey nibbles the feather of his crow-quill pen, tasting each potential word as it comes to him. Several lines have already been scribbled into blood-red clouds of frustration and there's not much room left on the page…

He looks down to Linhardt, who sits at his desk while Metodey is perched on its corner, journal in hand. The snake really does squeeze at the sight, tighter still when Linhardt looks up.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing." Metodey says, and then a moment after Linhardt puts his quill back to whatever he's working on— "But I'm thinking."

This time Linhardt doesn't look up. "That's good."

Another coil tightens as he watches the scholar dip into their shared inkwell. "Linhardt, which do you think is more dangerous...a tasteless poison or one that's sweet?"

“Poisons?" Linhardt sets his quill down and sighs. "Not my favorite subject, but rationally speaking, I suppose a tasteless one is more effective. Easier to slip into something undetected.”

“Not effective. _Dangerous_.”

“Hm.” He frowns at their inkwell. “What’s the difference in this context?”

...It’s more of a pout, really, and one that compels Metodey to set his journal aside and slide off the desk; he brushes the back of one claw against Linhardt’s cheek, cups his face, and leans down only for Linhardt to scoot his chair back. At first it seems like a rejection until he pats the arm of his chair and welcomes Metodey into his lap.

In this particular context he finds himself grinning down at Linhardt. “If it’s sweet enough, do you think they’d enjoy it?” He leans in again, this time close enough for his hair to touch the other man’s forehead. ”Even when it hurts, I find myself craving more...”

Said forehead furrows. “...Please don’t tell me you’ve been poisoning yourself again.”

Linhardt’s lips are as intoxicating as ever when Metodey tastes them. “Haven’t I?”

“Metodey.”

“I don’t know.” Though he breathes the words a hair’s breadth away from another kiss, he closes his eyes and waits for Linhardt to close the gap. “Sometimes it feels like it, when you kiss me.”

Instead, Linhardt leans back into his chair, which creaks. “That’s a dangerous metaphor.”

The crease in his brow is gone and the rest of features have smoothed into their usual placid expression, but is he upset anyway? It _is_ a metaphor this time, no harm meant by it, and anyway this is exactly why he picked it because the thought of Linhardt’s reprobation makes the snake around his heart extend its fangs and—

The snake unwinds, if only a little, as Linhardt pulls Metodey’s shirt collar to lower him, slowly, into another kiss. Yes, of course. Why would Linhardt be upset? He loves research and this is an important research question.

Metodey slides his arms around Linhardt’s shoulders. “But which _do_ you prefer? Tasteless or sweet?”

“Are you going to poison me?”

“What? No, no, I’d never—if anyone tried I’d—” The tips of his talons dig into Linhardt’s robe—a slight wince reminds Metodey not to clutch at him so tightly. 

A third kiss helps relax his grip. “See? Dangerous metaphor.” And then there’s a fourth, a fifth, sixth—all trailing down until Linhardt’s fingers trace the edge of his shirt’s top button. “Doesn’t this feel good?”

Metodey fumbles to unbutton it for him.

“Soothing?”

Ah, now Linhardt can reach his collarbone— 

“Let me be an antidote, then.” Linhardt looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. ”One that doesn’t need to hurt for you to enjoy it.”

“But those are so _bitter_ —”

“Wasn’t I the sweet poison?”

“ _You_ aren’t the poison!”

With one hand in Metodey’s shirt and the other on his thigh, Linhardt pauses. Loose hair falls into his face when he tilts his head; he leans away to tuck it behind his ear.

Is he waiting for an explanation? What one is there to give? After all, the entire reason Metodey had asked was the uncertainty of his own answer. Uncertainty of the question in some ways, and the context...Linhardt would _never_ make his stomach church or his chest ache—not intentionally—and even if he were lethal to ingest, Metodey would be more than happy to suffocate under his thoughtful gaze, drowning in its blue depths and drinking in the sweet nectar of his voice...

Nectar? That doesn’t fit at all. Though his skin _is_ soft like flower petals...

Linhardt’s hand on his arm scatters the thought. “...Then what am I?”

Not poison, not an antidote, not nectar—or maybe he is? One of those, or multiple. It’s so hard to decide and Linhardt doesn’t help the matter when he starts stroking Metodey’s arm with delicate movements that command attention. Metodey leans into the touch, rests his chin on top of Linhardt’s head.

“Tell me later. In one of your poems.” Linhardt says after enough time passes without an answer.

He lifts his head to look over at his journal with its unfinished message; a shiver runs through him as Linhardt uses the opportunity to kiss back up to the underside of his jaw.

“You can be an antidote for now,” Metodey says, snaking his arms around Linhardt to pull them closer together.

“Oh?” Linhardt’s next kiss definitely makes him sick, but in the fun way. ”Then drink up.”


End file.
